


So Close

by hazzahandsome



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, I'm still not great with tags... so... yep., M/M, Sleep Deprivation, Veronica!Zayn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-08
Updated: 2013-08-08
Packaged: 2017-12-22 19:11:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/916988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazzahandsome/pseuds/hazzahandsome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And Zayn’s small wrist held under Harry’s large hand - it made sense.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So Close

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this two weeks ago, when the Best Song Ever video dropped. And I started writing it to be my own version of Harry being interested in Veronica!Zayn. But, alas, it's me writing. So, it hadn't ended up going in the direction I was hoping for... at all. My very words when initially posting were, "Have you ever wanted to read a poorly thought through and poorly executed Zarry story? Well, then - do I have a treat for you! Seriously, though. I honestly have no clue." 
> 
> Well... I'm putting it here, anyway. So, have at it.

Sure, he was tired. They were all tired. It was inevitable to be a little bit spaced out, when you worked the long hours that they did. And traveled so often at odd times of the day, as they did. And never _really_ had a actual day off, as Harry did. He could disappear completely, sure. The others did it all the time and he’d taken the note from their books, before. But, Harry wouldn’t ever actively say no to a photo with a fan. Not if they asked him with their flattering wide eyes and hopeful faces. So, yes. He was tired.

He was tired a lot.

But, he loved touring. He loved touring and he loved _peforming_ and signing _boobs_ and guitar picks and the faces of people’s iPhones - even if he thought it was insanse to deface the front. Or the faces of _people_. And he loved music videos. He loved shooting music videos.

So, despite the large yawn that he was producing, as he sat in the makeup chair watching one of their crew glue large droopy earlobes to Niall - and despite the fact that he’d forgotten to pick up a coffee before he’d shown up at five that morning - and despite the fact that one of the on set assistants he’d asked for a cuppa seemed to of vanished into thin air, he was happy to be there. Sat. In the hard chair in the large warehouse where hundreds of people were running about trying to finish up last minute set pieces, that hadn’t gone according to plan. Sat. Next to Lou, who was riffaling through a large black case with lots and lots of compartments for the foundation that matched Niall’s skin perfectly. The jar in question had apparently gone missing from it’s normally reserved location and Lou had gotten quite tensed out about the situation. Harry could understand, of course. They were on a schedule. They were always on a schedule.

And the makeup for the video was more… intense than usual. None of them could afford to run behind.

"I don’t _fucking_ understand _where_ ,” Harry listened to Lou mumble for the fifth time underneath her breath, while Jonathon (one of the hired assistants for the day - and much more specialised in costume makeup) shot her a wary glance and continued applying the gelatin pieces to the side of Niall’s face.

Harry let his eyes run past her form to the schedule taped up on the mirror and then to the phone rested in his lap. They’d been there three hours, already - and Niall should of been out of first stage makeup (applied prostetics and basic foundation) chair and Louis in. She should of started on Harry’s own hair twenty minutes prior. “Ahh, Lou? When do you think-“

"Don’t you dare, Harry Styles," a polished finger suddenly swirled to point a few inches from the tip of his foundationless nose. "Don’t you _fucking_ _dare_.” Her hair was piled onto the top of her head in a hapahazzard bun and she did not look like she was in the mood for a chat. Harry stared at the tip of her nail and nodded slowly - then kicked out his feet to push his chair around in slow, tiny circles. Harry let his eyes drift closed and let the newly produced wind swoosh unproduct’d hair over the tops of his ears. And, oh. _Yes_. He was tired.

"One tall coffee with three sugars and one little spruce of hazelnut creamer, because you’re a fucking freak," a familar voice rang out. And Harry smiled comfortably, so comfortably, before lazily dragging his eyelashes up to gaze gratefully at his friend. Zayn stood in front of him in a pair of jeans and a rumpled grey shirt (Harry wouldn’t of been surprised if he’d hidden himself away and had been asleep in a rack of clothes or something). He had one hand outstretched towards him, holding a capped styrofoam cup - steam pouring out from the tiny hole at the top.

“ _Zayn_ ,” Harry hummed sleepily and reached out to grab. He clasped a large hand around Zayn’s wrist and gently tugged him closer. Harry watched him laugh lowly more than he heard it, because it was still early and Zayn was tired, too. He couldn’t be bothered.

"Just take it," Zayn groaned - his own voice rough and deep. He’d _definitely_ just woken up. He let Harry continue to pull him in, though, which was one of Harry’s favorite things about his friend. Zayn wasn’t ever quick to pull away in case someone they didn’t really know, who happened to be around, got the wrong idea. Not all of the other boys could be said the same. And Harry understood. _Of course_ he did, because he wanted to be a good friend and a good friend didn’t cause more issues than there needed to be. But, Zayn. Zayn let Harry pull him onto his lap in an awkward one armed snuggle, that had Lou chorkling at them, behind them. Zayn let Harry press his face into the side of his neck and mumble his delirious thanks for being such a lovely and thoughtful person. He also tried to strategically balance his tea and Harry’s coffee so that they wouldn’t both be scalded to death. And, hey.

Safety first.

Zayn attempted to situate himself better, fine to sit whereever he could whenever he could and repeated with a nudge of his elbow, “ _Just take it_.” Which, Harry did. He pulled his face back up and reached his other hand around to grab hold of the cup - the warm sides of the styrofoam melting into his skin and making him purr.

What felt like a few minutes later, after Lou had cheered in victory at _finally_ locating the correct coloring and Harry had taken a few careful sips of his beverage, Harry noted that he’d yet to disengage them and Zayn had yet to mind. He observed the slim of Zayn’s wrist settled softly under the plains of his coarse-ish fingers and casually let out a small chuckle. He was so small. Zayn. Zayn was small.

When ideas for the video first started being bat around and the characters had been brought up - Harry had had no doubt that he’d be the girl. An opportunity to shove Harry’s tall lanky body into a tight dress and a pair of heels had been presented to the boys, and Harry had had _no doubt_ that he’d of been picked to be the girl. But, then… he _wasn’t_. And Lou and Caroline were discussing what his geek chic (holding the ‘chic’) look would consist of. And tweed vests were brought into conversation. And taped glasses. And then wigs. For Zayn. To play the secretary.

And Zayn’s small wrist held under Harry’s large hand - it made sense.

Harry started to let his thumb trail across flat skin (something he’d recently been finding himself doing, whenever Zayn sat near to him on couches backstage and bus benches - whenever they decided to get on the same one) - when Zayn was suddenly being pulled away, then, by Lou. A glance back to the taped schedule showed red pen marks scratching out Niall’s first stages and Louis’. And a glance to his phone in his now empty lap showed that they’d been there longer than he’d realised.

"And what are you doing, you dick head?" Lou questiond him, as Jonathon started laying out gelatins holding thinly shaped eyebrows and delicatly defined cheekbones.

"… My hair," Harry started with a pout and a bunched brow. "And, you know… Makeup… You do those things to me."

"I know. I know," she gripped the handle of a small point brush and began to line the edge of Zayn’s hairline to start the bald cap. Harry hadn’t thought they’d fall behind, for long. Lou had always been good about pulling together an impending disaster. "I’ve got to give Zayn a pair of tits first, so you’ll have to wait."

~~~

By the time Harry’s chair had been spun around to face forward towards the mirror, Zayn was long haired and shirtless, with two hunched and focussed individuals painting highlights into his cleavage. It was… a sight. Watching Zayn play with the ends of his synthetic hair, with catious fascination - fingers weaving in and out of the black strands. _Manicured_ fingers weaving in and out of the black strands. There was a carefully produced line of liquid liner running along the length of his top eyelids and mascarra meticulously unclumped coating his lashes. Glossy lips - a complete one eighty from his normal slightly chapped ones. But no less red and plump, than usual.

More pronounced, with the lip liner that he’d watched Lou decide on.

But, he wasn’t sure if that made them better or worse.

And it was almost… _frustrating_ , Harry thought with a shakey, audible sigh, as Lou ran a fine toothed comb from back to front. Shaping his hair into something smooth and strange and forgeign to his natural asthetic. It _was_ frustrating that even like… _this_ \- sat in a long black _skirt_ and stylised flowing curls - Zayn was still one of the most appealing things Harry had ever seen.

This wasn’t like the others.

This wasn’t like the other rumours that surrounded and suffocated his friends (and sometimes - awkwardly - various family members) whenever they stood too near to his person in the London streets. Or the Los Angeles ones. Or New York. There _weren’t_ rumours. Harry knew that. A few flimsy poorly researched articles here and there and the pathetic gossip sites that nobody cared about - not even the most desperate - sometimes took note of their mutual antics on stage. And wondered irrelvantly if something was happening between the pair. And it wasn’t, of course. And they didn’t really think they were, of course. Nobody watched the way Harry watched Zayn. Not really. They focussed on friends of friends who went to the same parties that Harry attended. And they focussed on _sort-of_ friends who happened to have work in whatever part of the world One Direction happened to be in at the time. They saw Him _With_ Them, together in stores with Cal or Lou. They saw… loving glances to Louis. The same glance he gave to _all_ of the boys. One of the few things that everyone _ignored_. The glances. The stares.

With Louis, he’d pulled back. He’d made a conscious effort to not look too long, in the knowledge of the waves it could and would create. And Louis didn’t appreciate the waves. And Eleanor didn’t appreciate them, either. And Harry cared that Louis cared, so he cooled it down.

The genuine and unabashed love he had for each and every one of them.

But, Zayn….

Zayn was something else, and Harry had always known that. Even in the beginning, when they’d argue with each other over stupid petty things, that had Liam swishing his neck back and fowrth between the pair in worry and stiffled anger. Time went on and the rows slowly faded away.

And then one day, it ran over him like a eighteen wheeler.

He was nuzzling into Zayn because he found him attractive. He was planting soft kisses (more than he would on the others), because he wanted to remember the feel of inked skin warming his lips. He was running his hands down the slope of Zayn’s back onstage and letting the same be done to him, because… He wanted to touch. He wanted to have the _right_ to touch, the way he’d heard faceless girls do in the middle of the night in cities they can’t remember, through thin hotel walls. He wanted Zayn to wake up from the daze he more than probably wasn’t in and would never concivably be in and…. just… _fancy him back_. Harry just wanted Zayn to fancy him back.

It was frustrating.

That Zayn was such a good person, who wanted to make sure that all of his boys were safe. That Zayn was a person who brought him coffee when he was tired and let Harry hold him close and wear his clothes when he was starting to wear down his own.

That Zayn could shove his feet into a pair of _heels_ and Harry would have to actively stiffle a groan that was _actually_ a moan. Because, _what the **fuck**_? Where did this even come from?

Not once in Harry’s life had he turned on his computer and clicked open the correct bookmark and typed in ‘cross dressing’ into the search bar. And if he had of, Harry doubted that it would of done anything for him. Tours were _long_ and bus rides were _long_ and hotel nights (when they got them) were comfortable - and Harry had searched and watched _a lot_ of different things. Found a large variety of kinks he hadn’t ever realised he’d possessed from gagging to _watersports_ (which had been _such_ a surprise, he’d texted Nick for a briefing - who’d texted back saying he wasn’t surprised at all) and a large variety he never ever _ever_ wanted to see or think about again.

None of those things ever got him going quite like the image of Zayn’s face flashing through his mind, though. Harry would be locked away inside his bunk on his bus casually palming at himself, almost just to have something to do, and suddenly he’d get a glimpse of cheek or jaw or eyes, and go hard in a second. But, never. _Never_ had it flashed like this. With red lips and… the most ridiculous facial expressions he’d ever seen. “You’re supposed to be ‘The Sexy Assistant’, Zee,” Harry cleared his throat. It felt dry at the knew knowledge he was aquiring. And his heart hurt a little bit harder, as he watched Zayn purse his lips in the mirror and squint his eyes, like Perrie does when she’s trying to get him away from the rest of the pack. “What is _that_ face supposed to be?” he teased half-heartedly.

"Fuck you, Haz," Zayn playfully turned his head to the right for the thirtieth time - hair flipping over the curve of his shoulder and smoldering, above the heads of the people fixing a blouse to fall right over his fake breasts, into the mirror. "I’m getting into character. This is some serious shit, right here." Harry squinted through a cloud of hairspray that was suddenly surrounding him and watched Zayn work, with fond eyes. He wasn’t the only one throwing themselves into the job, obviously. But, Harry was pleased to watch. "It could be worse, ya know," Zayn grinned over at the set. "Like, I could be doing _that_ ,” Harry tore his eyes from where they’d been latched on the limbs falling smoothly out of black fabric, to follow Zayn’s pointed finger. Where Niall and Louis were walking - _strutting_ \- fully done up and yelling out about banging Angelina Jolie.

"Yeah…," he turned back and took the glasses being handed to him. "I think your look is my favorite."

~~~

There were so many times (so many, that he’d honestly be embarassed to count them) when Harry was with Zayn and had found himself… losing focus.

This was one of them.

"Let’s get a bit closer, then! Harry! Harry, you with me?" Ben called out to him, where he’d been doing a weird shimmy shake with his shoulders in circles around Zayn’s ‘Veronica’. Harry hadn’t been quite sure where the moves had come from, but there was a similar rhythm to the arms that Liam had had earlier in the day during the shoot. So, he supposed that that had a lot to do with it. He and Zayn had been working on their duo shots for more than an hour - and there had been a small moment where Ben had set them up on one of the office couches. A sort-of mock copy of the steryoptypical film executive casting couch. It had been shut down fairly quickly, of course. Almost all of the people present knew it wasn’t very ‘One Direction’ and their team noticed Harry hovering over Zayn shimmy shaking those shoulders and put a stop to it. Zayn had burst out in bright and radiating laughter and Harry stumbled along to do the same. Ben never would of used the shots in the final edit, anyways. Harry was stiff (not in the way he was trying _not_ to be, but) as a board and his eyes were attached to a rocket launcher. He hadn’t known where to look or what to do with his hands. By the grace of God, the whole room thought it was a schtick of some sort. So, that saved him some. “I want you to flirt with her, ‘kay! _Really_ go for it.”

Zayn had always been more fun and open than the fans gave him credit for. Which was odd, seeing as they were the fans. Zayn had plunked on his heels, reached to palms up to adjust his new breasts, and flipped his hair like all girls seemed to do in the movies, before sliding onto set and introducing himself as Veronica.

And it had been that way since they’d all started that morning. During one take, while Zayn bent over to ‘serve them’ some water, Harry lost his focus. His eyes slid down the length of Zayn’s back - and Harry knew that underneath, the boy was more muscular than the pretty blouse let on. His eyes dipped further, over the hump of his backside. And… yeah. Zayn’s arse looked pretty decent from that angle. He’d imagined that angle, before. Zayn bent over in front of him. Or him bent over in front of Zayn. Either or. Harry wasn’t very picky.

As, Harry paused his shimming to listen to Ben’s instructions - he recalled the way his lap had twitched at precisely the wrong moment. His eyes going wide and suddenly realising where he was. What he was doing. That there were cameras trained on his face, watching him watch Zayn bum. He’d looked over to Liam, to see if he’d noticed - to find that that pair of eyes was turning from where Harry had been looking, too. He’d found Liam giving him an exagerated look, that Harry copied. And afterwards, Liam had punched his shoulder lightly and winked, ‘That was a great idea, Harry. Zayn’s going to freak if he sees that.’

The backing track started, once more, and Zayn’s full head of hair started to bounce along to the beat. Harry watched Zayn brush his fingers by his face in mock modisty, as Harry stared into his eyes and mouthed along to the words. There was something appealing (strange but, appealing) about the idea that underneath all of the outfit, Zayn was still Zayn. And Zayn was the part he wanted.

Harry’s mind was reeling and all of the spastic activity of the day was starting to leave him sea sick. So, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. This was fine. He just didn’t like to be reminded of all of the things he couldn’t do. He didn’t like to be reminded that he had no chance. That there was a possibilty (even if that possibility was more than likely the actually truth - and he had no reason to think otherwise) that one day, Zayn would pull away instead of snuggle close. And wouldn’t be comfortable enough to dance like this, even if it was for some excentric music video, but. It was _fine_. Harry was around Zayn all day everyday - and his getting to pull him close and ‘mess about’ with him in the way he’d like to in real life…. well, it was fine. Everything was alright. “Grab his hands!” Ben called out over the track - and Harry immediatly reached out to clasp their fingers together, launching himself near and dancing close.

So close.

So very close.

Harry had been this close to Zayn before. He’d been this close to Niall, as well. Liam. Louis. Pretty much any and all of his friends. But, with Zayn - each and every time, he had to force himself to pay attention. Pay attention to where he was and the general enviroment. Not lose focus. Not do something rash - something radical - that could ruin and taint every day leading up to it. Harry didn’t want to see harsh eyes and the back of a hand wiping those red plump lips. He didn’t want to mess things up with his best friend.

Zayn wouldn’t be surprised, per se. Well, he’d be surprised that Harry was kissing _him_ , but… in general… “Zayn! Coy looks! Yeah, yep. Just like that!”

And that was dangerous ground. The ‘But’s’ that clawed and hammered away to crack the surface and makes their way into his brain. The _'But's'_ were dangerous. And the ‘What If’s’. Because, three years of amazing experiences with the best friends he’d ever or will have could… break. If he made things awkward, all for a selfish desire to just… _know_. To know if it would feel as right, as he’d been imaging - in his calmer and nicer wonderings. That’s not what he wanted. He didn’t want the ‘But’s’ to be the wrecking ball to their comfortable lives.

Zayn’s lower body continued to lazily groove along with his, and Harry could distantly hear Ben asking for them to keep going into another take - the song starting back and barrelling through. The smile and pure enjoyment of the entire situation stabbed at Harry, while they both danced together and looked back and fowrth towards the camera. As the song reached, arguably, the best lines.

What if…

Harry was delirious. They were _all_ tired. It was inevitable to be a little bit spaced out, when you worked the long hours that they did. And traveled so often at odd times of the day, as they did. And never _really_ had a actual day off, as Harry did.

So, when Harry tugged at their clasped hands to get Zayn flushed against him to sing about dirty mouths - he didn’t think he could really be blamed. And when he nimbled on his own bottom lip, with his eyes locked on what he’d always wanted - he couldn’t possibly be at fault. And when he pressed a finger into Zayn’s cheek to tilt him in his direction - he couldn’t offer up an explanation. And when his voice on the backing track - loud enough to make the floor vibrate underneath the souls of his shoes - started the first syllabls of him being kissed like she meant it….

Well…

Everything went quite silent.

Not in the room, though. The music was just as loud. He was sure everyone was still doing their jobs.

But Harry’s eyes were closed, as he brought two palms up to cup the side of Zayn’s face and adjust the angle so that the slot of the lips would be better situated. A white heavy fog clouded every corner of his brain, as he took his only ever moment to memorize the taste and glide. **_LikeMeBackLikeMeBackLikeMeBack_**. It was fast, with just enough time for Harry to lick at the plump of Zayn’s surprised lip. And then Harry was pulling away and madly spinning round Zayn, once more. Ten times the energy and frantically moving his feet - to clear the fog. Two exscruciating seconds was what it took for Zayn’s system to restore itself and then he was dancing, as well. Harry avoided Zayn’s gaze, but he could feel it on him. Questioning and confused. But, there was something else there. A lack of surprise swimming right along total surprise.

And Harry couldn’t deal with it.

He’d made the wrong choice.

He could see Niall out of the corner of his eyes - crossing his arms and staring in shock. Niall knew things that it’d be better if he didn’t and that added to Harry’s disent into grey fog.

Bad fog.

He’d made the wrong choice.

"CUT!" Ben screamed out over all of the noise, once the song ended. He came out from behind the camera and when Harry finally braved looking in the direction of the crew - everyone was laughing. "I know you really liked the couch idea," Ben was smiling and clapping the both of them on the shoulders. "But, if they didn’t go for that, I _don’t_ think they’ll go for this. _Great_ initiative though, boys. I like the energy!”

Harry stood no different from his usual build and grinned smartly - desperatly waiting for the floor to split in two and save him from the ‘What If’s’ and ‘But’s’ that had broken through to get their way. He could feel the rise and fall of his chest pulsing faster and faster - and he was sure that he didn’t have his inhaler with him. So, his eyes trained on the floor trying to come up with a sentence of some sort, to not make this awkward. Any sort.

"We, like, thought we’d give the fans something really special," Zayn chuckled. But, all of them knew each other better than anyone. _Harry_ knew _Zayn_ better than any of the crew. “Too much?”

He wasn’t really laughing.

~~~

Harry moved as swiftly and unsuspiciously, as his giant octopus limbs would allow, when they both cleared for the next scene. He mumbled something about the restroom to Paul and weaved his way through cases of powder and racks of clothing, to the nearest hallway and started from there.

Harry had never been in this particular warehouse before. But, they were all the same in a way. With the same sort-of signs everywhere leading you where you needed to go. Harry followed the maze of arrows in hast and panically tried to level out his breathing, which was coming in hard heavy puffs. A right turn and two more lefts lead him to stand in front of a door with a tiny stick man on the front, and Harry sighed as he pushed his way inside.

He made his way to the row of sinks, reaching out to the paper towel and pulling. The edges didn’t break and he was left with a long strand of the brown paper, so he ripped at the top and ball it all up to stick under a cool stream of water. The paper sucked the water quickly - so that Harry had to twist his wrists to ring some of the excess out - and brought it to his face. Lou would kill him when he made it back, but Harry couldn’t breathe and couldn’t be bothered to give a fuck if he would need to repowder his nose. “Do you need, like, a pill or something?” Zayn’s sudden presence had Harry pushing his face in deeper. He mumbled somthing along the lines of _'No, I'm fine'_ and continued to breathe in and out. And then, there he was. Zayn. Placing a hand onto the low of his back and rubbing the tightness there in smooth slow circles. “You’re alright,” he listened to Zayn murmer. And a peek out of the wad of wet paper hand towels and into the mirror, revealed Zayn stood behind him. Wig-less and bald cap-less, picking at clumps of glue fucking up his hairline. “I hope they use that last shot,” Zayn continued talking in a low tone, as to not startle. “The fans would gif the fuck out of that.”

"…. I’m… sorry about that," Harry spoke into his towel, knowing that he’d be hard to understand.

But Zayn didn’t seem to have a problem, “Why? You saying I’m a bad kisser?”

"… _What?_ … _**No**_.”

Zayn’s hand pressed harder into the dimples of his back, “Then I don’t really see the problem.”

Harry wanted to touch, that was the problem. He wanted to have the _right_ to touch. He wanted Zayn to wake up from his daze and fancy him back. Maybe the shock of Harry attacking him, at least brought forth Harry’s three year issue. And maybe Zayn wouldn’t hate him forever. The rythmic lull of his fingers suggested it was possible. The pressure didn’t suggest Zayn was thinking about falling in love and locking themselves in a bedroom for sixty years…. but, it did suggest.

Harry let the wad fall from his hands into the basin below. He watched his friend in the mirror and pulled his brows together, but he didn’t say anything. Not for awhile. And neither Zayn - who just kept on with the actions of his hands. When Harry finally spoke, it wasn’t what he’d expected. “You make a really nice girl… pretty,” he uttered, quiet in the tiled room.

"I _know_ I do.”

Harry snorted, then, and ducked his head down to rest his chin against his chest, “Modest, as always.”

Zayn tucked his chin over the bone of Harry’s shoulder and watched him in their reflection. “Don’t freak out, ya? I know you’re freaking out.” Harry nodded aimlessly and rolled his head to knock it lightly against Zayn’s. “I admit, I wasn’t expecting that. And we both know one of those fuckers is going to sell that story to a paper…” Harry nodded some more - still not sure where his sudden downcast mood had come from. Earlier he’d been admiring Zayn’s legs in his skirt. He’d like to go back to admiring Zayn’s legs in his skirt. “But… it was a nice kiss,” Zayn’s hands squeezed at Harry’s sides in a way he was familiar with. Harry lifted his head back up, with attent eyes, as he watched Zayn peel himself off of Harry’s back, pull the door back open, and start back through the maze towards the shoot.

He grinned and frowned shyly (all at the same time) to himself and let out a shakey sigh.

_But._


End file.
